A Salesman On Repeat
by LucidityEater
Summary: Watching the end of the world, over and over...


_A/N: Really short, sorry. I've been in a Majora's Mask mood for a while even though I'm only on the Great Bay Temple. There's just so much you can do with the characters, so many different interpretations. Here's mine of the Happy Mask Salesman. There's a certain askblog that I like (happy-mask-merchant on tumblr) which vaguely influenced this._

 _He's not evil, but..._

* * *

He wasn't really on repeat now, was he. He saw everything from that clock tower, everything, even though he never moved from his spot beside the turning pole that moved the clock along. He needed to watch over the child, needed to make sure that he wouldn't fail.

That child was unnerving. His eyes held no innocence, not anymore, though he suspected they never had. The blank look he wore perturbed him, closed shut yet strangely vacant. The courage remained but was more a silent exhaustion.

The salesman had entertained the idea of retrieving Majora's Mask himself, but that fantasy lasted merely a minute. He was weak, vulnerable enough that an ordinary Skull Kid could overpower him. Strength enough to lift a small child into the air would not help him save the world.

His fingers twitched as he remembered the feel of the boy's cool skin beneath his hands, his empty blue eyes bulging as the salesman tightened his grip on his neck.

A grimace accompanied the memory. He usually wasn't one to have violent tendencies, though when it came to masks, well, it couldn't be helped. But taking it out on the child…

He made sure not to snap again, offering gentle encouragement whenever the child stood before him, staring with hollow eyes, or commenting on the masks he wore. When the child put on the body of another person, sometimes right there in front of him, he'd squeeze his eyes shut just a little tighter, hoping the sound of a young distorted scream wouldn't linger.

Why the child would subject himself to such torture he didn't understand. Yes, those stolen forms were useful, but yielding one's identity to another so desperately willing to live would strip the child down.

He believed though, believed that the boy had strength of mind enough to resist them, to resist the temptation of giving up. The boy believed too, believed he had the power to change fate, over and over again, to alter the world.

A world beneath the control of a creature whose cage had been its salvation.

Masks like that had a pull to them, carefully, slowly, deliberately drawing their puppets to them, melding the powers to their victims' souls, just another vessel towards their own ends. Skull Kid must have seemed so deliciously helpless to Majora: a young sprite betrayed by his friends, left alone in two worlds. A pity his new companions were powerless to stop him. Now his mind was warped and twisted by a primordial force, forced to bring about the end of the world. Forced, now, that was too strong a word. The Skull Kid held some resentment, but not enough to go to such lengths. Majora just gave him a nudge.

There was another mask, Majora's counterpart. Now that was a mask he'd like to have. It was the greatest of all collector's items: the embodiment of Termina herself, all her creatures and people somehow contributing a small amount of their souls to create a thing of sentience, of purpose: to protect Termina. But that was all speculation. Information on the Fierce Deity was scarce, and he was unsure as to whether the Deity's intentions were so benevolent.

He did have a sneaking suspicion of where it was and how it got there, and he also suspected that Link would be the one to lay hands on it. That would be a sight to see, the child wearing such a mask, such a young person bestowed with powers resembling the gods. But he knew that they were only minor. Hylia and Demise were a rank above the Deity and Majora. The Goddesses reigned supreme over all.

But could one so young bear the weight of a god on his shoulders?

The salesman sighed. Endless time in a doomed world seemed like a blessing, but in truth he was confined here. It gave him too many opportunities to overthink things.

 _Think of masks. That would be a better topic to ruminate on, wouldn't it?_

Smiling made him tired. He grimaced again as his mind refused to obey, wandering down a path that made imaginary feet hurt and blister. The endless _tick tick tick_ scratched at his ears, and the pack he carried bent him over to the point he would topple at the slightest push. But only the child entered the tower, and he wasn't one to play pranks. Not on a person who could have killed him.

What was the time again? Ah, the end of the world.

Time to go.

He whistled a healing tune to himself, smiling, as he watched the land scorched and scarred by the impact, all life obliterated in a single blazing instant.

He waited, enough time for the shockwave to knock the child and fairy unconscious, then grabbed him, hauling him to safety before the fire hit, one hand grasping the boy's arm, the other curled lightly around Tatl.

He laid them in front of the tower doors, chuckling to himself as they were swallowed by the darkness. He watched them walk out the doors, the child's eyes like the open ocean; a barren expanse of brilliant blue.


End file.
